Good Boys Hold Flowers
by Nightshade1999
Summary: Everyone has a soulmate, Hazel once told you. A person, who completes the missing piece of the puzzle, accepts someone for who they are and everything they can be. One day you find yourself wondering, do you even have a chance with that? This is a love story about a boy, two other men, and a bouquet of roses.
1. Chapter 1

Chasing an Elephant in the Cage Pt. 1

You walk along the crowded streets, holding a bouquet of what you perceive to be white roses. The flowers weigh heavy in your long fingers, but you do not mind. It is a reminder of what you have lost and will continue to lose. It is a reminder that you are alive. Alive in a world where you wish to be boneless, left to fly through the night air with a single gust of wind and disappear entirely. But you know people who won't let you, even though you are unhappy. Unhappy in a place where you only see black and white and everyone else sees in color.

What is color? The word— _color_ —sounds foreign, strange on your ears. _It feels and tastes strange._ Color is associated with vibrancy, vivaciousness, and vividness. Properties you are lacking in your mind, in your life. What is a vibrant pattern? What is a vivacious action? What is it like to see in vivid color? What is this color? You shake the flowers and see a single dark gray petal fall to the ground. You ponder these questions like you have all your life. They are the questions you wish to answer before the end of your existence. And you will quite possibly never learn the answer. It all concludes on one principle—you need a soulmate to see it and you do not have one.

Everyone has a soulmate, Hazel once told you from her spot on the loveseat. A person, who completes the missing piece of the puzzle, accepts someone for who they are and everything they can be. A supporter, a lover, and a friend. Hazel loves to revel in her new senses—taste is interesting and picky (She says she can never eat fried anchovies again), smell can be a gift and a curse, but the most important gift is sight. You are glad Frank gave her the most pleasurable experience possible. To see the world for what it really is, in all its marvelous splendor and myriad of colors that paint the sky. Hazel tries to show you some of her artwork, but you cannot detect how the colors blend together on the page. All you can see are the shades of whites and blacks, but no color. It upsets her, so you leave and let her live her life. You have no soulmate.

Annabeth likes to tell you it is not true. "You have a soulmate somewhere, Nico. They may not be here or they are and they have yet to meet you. You will be fine."

You like Annabeth despite your misgivings. She is strong, bright, smart, and wonderful. She does not try to lie about the facts to your face like Hazel and her Frank. You trust Annabeth wholeheartedly. So you ask her about how to find your soulmate. Once a month during your therapy sessions at her office. Her office is quiet, you always liked that.

Annabeth explained it as tricky. There is no process, no warnings, no signs, just a magnetic pull that leads you to the person who will complete once the pair of you meets. Then, you will know, she says. Annabeth is smart, but Annabeth is not right. You were taken with someone just in that way, but you do not have a soulmate.

His name _was_ is Percy Jackson and he _is_ was the most beautiful thing to you. Without color, you could tell he was handsome, with his wild hair and captivating smile. You admired him unabashedly. In your tender, younger years you idolized Percy with a ferocity. Your feelings were based on a passionate _love_ loyalty, and you nursed and harbored those feelings for five years. You waited long and that well-built man had rooted himself in your mind and soul. You prayed day and night that one day, just maybe, he could look upon you with those eyes and you would see color. For a simple second, he would notice you and love you too. And then he met Annabeth, and he settled down with her in a tall apartment building on 5th Avenue and you were left crippled. You gave up on soulmates, after that.

The problem, you think, remains with the desire to have one. For years, people, persuasive and compelling, give speeches about how wonderful it would be to have a soulmate. Everyone has one and you do not know what it would be like to have one too. You desire it like you desire to see color. You want it, but cannot. To be honest, despite your bitter and venomous feelings on the subject, you want to be taken care of, loved for being you. You want a soulmate to encourage you in ways more than Hazel can provide. With a father that believes you are a complete failure, a stepmother that enjoys your pain and torment, and a beloved sister and mother waiting for you six feet under, you want some support. A reason to keep going on with this poor charade of living a normal life—without color, without taste, without smell. Depraved of all senses, it is a reasonably bland life and you could not be pleasured more by your pitiful existence. Subconsciously you want your sister and your mother. You are left with white roses.

You walk briskly towards the cemetery to visit the loved ones buried too deep to see you. You can no longer touch them, but you can hear them in your mind if you are close enough. And now you need the comfort. The tradition started when you were ten, first with your mother and then with your sister. They are buried next to each other with an angel overlooking them both from the top of the headstones. You carved the angel for them. Your sister had always complemented your artistry. Since her death, you have lost your muse and the motivation to continue. Anything you now create is dedicated to Bianca, as it should be. You only wish she was here to kiss your forehead, reminiscent of how she did all those years ago. You were once ten and now you are older than twenty.

You continue on your path. The city is filled with people hustling around and you are trying to protect the flowers from getting destroyed as you move around them. You have not missed a day since you were ten and you are not planning to now.

It was on a chilly Sunday that you missed your first day and saw color for the first time in twenty-one years.


	2. Chapter 2

You land awkwardly on your bottom with an indignant squawk, your flowers falling from your hand onto the pavement. Whoever bumped into you is larger than your five foot eleven inch frame, but you do not register the information. You are mad, angry, beyond furious, which is not a surprise; your father is well known for his temper. You are on the ground, your flowers slipping away into the light breeze. The pretty petals fly away faster than you can catch with your eyes. Your pride has been shattered, the gift for your mother and sister is ruined. A rage flows through you and you rise, ready to rip a new one in the other person. You stand on your own and you raise your head, mouth ready to spew venomous words when the world stops and you gasp.

There is a flash of light in your eyes, piercing white that threatens to blind you. You stumble back in shock. The white fills your eyes and suddenly your life's story is played like movie.

You can see yourself walking down on dirt. You are chubby faced with big, dark eyes and your stubby two-year old legs struggle to follow Bianca as she skips to the park. Her French braided hair is flying in the wind, her whitish dress twirling around her legs. You see yourself a few years later. Seven years old with your mother kissing your forehead and your father smiling at you proudly after you play the piano. Your sister is grinning from the ear to ear as she hold up your black and grey painting when you are nine. You can see all the previous moments passed. Your father's proud smile, your mother's eyes twinkling with mirth and happiness, and your sister's broad grin. You can see it, in the black and white colors of the world, with more clarity than anything else in your life.

The light flashes again and you see yourself at twelve, holding hands with your younger sister Hazel as she leans on you at the park for a nap. You see Percy, his radiance and his warmth. You see Annabeth, with her smart smirk and her reserved smiles. You see Reyna, grim faced determination masking her beautiful face as you spar in the afternoons. And you see Frank, the bumbling baby-faced man who became the soulmate of your sister. The flashes are fast, in black and white, and you pray it will end.

Then it stops and you are on your hands and knees, staring at the concrete. Your breathing is unsteady and you are glad the thing your episode is over. It was different from the episodes you had before, worse that it showed your past and saddening as it showed the important people of your present. You will have to consult Annabeth, you think, about your new problem. Again, you raise your head and you are knocked breathless.

The first thing that registers is there is a new light. It is strange to see it. A darker color of white but with a different shade. You cannot describe it and there is more of it on the clothes of surrounding persons and it is clinging to the sky. The sky is not white. It is full of white and another color and there are planes in the sky that are still gray. A constant in this new variation of the world. There is a gleam of another color, the glow of another, and the luminosity, the newness, the variation of the colors blows your mind again. You can't breathe.

You try to breathe and get a mouthful of smog. Your throat fills up and constricts against the new sensations. You can smell. It is amazing. The warm smell radiating from the cup of coffee passing from beside you. You cannot describe the way it smells, how it lingers in the air and you can taste it on your tongue.

Taste. The newest sensation is so subtle and elegant. You do not need to have something in your mouth to taste. Your very tongue and teeth have a taste. What must be mint is hovering in your mouth. Mint is fresh, just as Listerine promised. You open your mouth and are assaulted by a new feeling. You did not think about it at first after the onslaught of spectacles and wonders; you did not believe you could partake in the experience.

Now you know what it is like to experience these strange gifts that your sister and friends take so much pleasure in. A joyous laugh bursts through your lips and you look down at the pale white of your skin. You are pale, you have no color. The thought disheartens you, but not much. You look at your clothes—the blacks and whites of the outfit that stands out garishly compared to the vibrant backdrop of the city. It hurts you on the inside to know that you did not fit in with the other colors, but you are excited.

You will have to take money out of your fund to pay for classes to learn the new vibrancies that exist in your life. Classes to teach you the scents that exist on Earth and how to explain taste. You will have to rely on Hazel for cooking before you can attempt to assort your taste palate. Something inside you sings with joy. You have it. The thing you desire most. The senses, amazing in their complexity and freshness. It makes you realize that you have gained a dream that you had once set to the side and thought you could not have. You have a soulmate.

You look up to see a bright hair colored man step in front of you. His hands are outstretched towards you and the glasses perched on his nose are sliding down. You stare at him and he stares back, his mouth open in a little 'o' before he can recover himself. He is taller than you by a few inches, maybe two and his feet are covered in white shoes. You are glad you can associate a color to an object for once. You look at him for familiarity, cataloging his face from the intense eyes to the scar on his upper lip.

"Hi," he says cautiously, before rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment. You nod in greeting as well. You cannot force yourself to speak. You are tongue-tied. He is gazing at you with a gentle stare and you swallow. He can tell you are tense and gives you a smile. You shyly smile back. This is your soulmate. You can make it work. At least, those are your thoughts until he opens his mouth again.

"Um, this is awkward, but I have a girlfriend."


End file.
